


In the End

by ArcticLucie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Daryl's a sad drunk, M/M, Past Relationship(s), wedding crashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLucie/pseuds/ArcticLucie
Summary: Twenty minutes before Paul's wedding and Daryl's in a seedy bar drinking his sorrows away. He's acted a coward for far too long, but one should never underestimate the power of liquid courage. Or a goddamn pop song.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely littleblackwolf016 on Tumblr kind of asked for a funny wedding crasher fic based on the song "Crashed the Wedding," so I thought I'd give it a go. Turned out a little more angsty than funny, but that's Daryl for ya.
> 
> A big thanks to Mermaidshenaz and Lilvixen25 for looking it over!

The burn in his throat from the Jack dissipated after his third shot. Daryl tapped on the bar signaling for another as he licked the alcohol from his lips. He grunted when the bartender asked him a question—something stupid like “long day?”—but he wasn’t in the mood. Not today anyway. He had plans.

He grabbed the bottle when the bartender tried to take it away, but one snarl had the man relenting. The bartender held his hands up in surrender and shrugged before he walked away, wisely unwilling to get in between a Dixon and his whiskey. Daryl poured himself another shot and tossed it back before pouring another. That oughta get him started.

He looked up at the Budweiser clock dangling from two chains in the ceiling. The wedding hadn’t started yet, but with twenty minutes to go, Daryl could picture the guests arriving, dressed up in their finest, shuffling into the small church Daryl couldn’t stop himself from driving by before spotting the seedy bar he now sat in. He remembered taking Paul to little places like this back before he felt comfortable in the gay bars his former lover frequented.

Paul probably wouldn’t set foot in a place like this now. Alex surely forbade it, the silver spoon he’d been born with shoved too far up his pretentious ass to even think about slumming with people like Daryl. What chance did Daryl have against that? Against money when he had nothing to offer but crappy TV dinners and cheap beer?

Paul deserved better.

Maybe he should’ve been grateful Paul had the decency to send him an invitation, to even think of him as he sat up there in his shiny new penthouse planning his wedding, but had he really expected Daryl to go, to sit in a pristine pew and watch the love of his life walk down the aisle with the wrong man?

Well, if he did, he hadn’t known Daryl at all.

A thunk on the bar jarred him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see a glass of water sitting in front of him, the bartender already off to help another customer. Daryl sighed and picked it up. He should stay hydrated, but he still planned on getting so drunk he forgot his own name. And Paul’s for good measure.

He emptied the glass and sat it down. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but when he pulled out his half empty pack, the bartender pointed to a No Smoking sign. _Of course._ He grunted as he stood, his legs a little numb but steady underneath him. A quick smoke and he’d get back to drinking.

*

A light drizzle made him feel sticky as he lit up and tried not to think about whether rain meant good luck or bad on wedding days. The gloominess had him leaning toward the latter, but maybe that was wishful thinking. He ignored the car pulling up beside him as he took another drag, but the radio blasting terrible pop rock music had his ears ringing.

The words “glad I crashed the wedding” sifted through the noise, and Daryl blew out smoke as he strained to hear the lyrics, his curiosity piqued. Usually he didn’t believe in signs or divine intervention, but after several shots, his tipsy brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. The music cut out right after the line “It’s better than regretting,” and Daryl eyed the lanky blond who stepped out of the BMW.

He looked awkwardly out of place in khaki shorts and a polo sweater as he wandered toward the front door, but Daryl turned his attention back to his cigarette and tried to get the stupid lyrics out of his head. No, he was _not_ going to crash Paul’s wedding. Things like that only worked out in the movies.

The last drag of his cigarette filled his lungs and he tried to let go of the unease that set in. Maybe he should go, for closure or some shit like that. Paul wanted him there, didn’t he? Why else would he send him an invitation? And if he didn’t, Daryl was teetering on the edge of drunkenness. Making a scene sounded exactly like something a Dixon would do.

His phone said he had ten minutes before the wedding started, so he spent the next five pacing beside his bike, his thoughts alternating between whether to stay or go. Just when he’d decided against it—for the tenth time—the BMW revved to life and that same damn song started up again.

That settled it; he was going.

It took a second for him to dig out his keys, and maybe he shouldn’t have been driving buzzed, but he started up his Triumph and peeled out of the parking lot. The mist against his face sobered him a little, and by the time he got to the church, he felt a steeled determination he hadn’t known before. He could do this. He’d go in, embarrass himself, and then leave like the failure everyone already knew he was.

If it backfired on him, he’d go find a bridge to drive off. No harm done.

*

He squeezed the keys in his palm as he stomped toward the entrance, the pain grounding him even more. One deep breath later and he’d pushed the doors open. Ignoring the ushers, he zigzagged through the atrium and burst into the sanctuary.

And then his heart stopped.

Paul stood at the end of the aisle holding hands with his betrothed, his hair pulled back and shorter than Daryl cared for, but the grey suit he wore fit him like a goddamn glove as it hugged every single inch of his body. The archway above them had white roses and lights woven into it, and Paul looked ethereal, godly, perfect, like the whole fucking universe revolved around him.

And Daryl had ruined it. _His_ moment. He’d fucked up and taken it away from him. He wanted to run, to turn around and flee, but why bother when the whole world felt like it was falling down around him. He’d say his piece, and then leave. Alone, like always, the thought more burdensome now than it ever had the right to be.

He felt everyone’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t look at them. Paul had him trapped, his feet refusing to move as they stared each other down. Paul’s brows pinched together, and Daryl’s heart clenched at how much he’d missed that stupid face of his.

“Daryl?” Paul asked. At least he didn’t sound angry.

Daryl opened his mouth to reply, and then snapped it shut. Because what could he say? _Don’t do this. Don’t marry him._

Before he could say anything at all, the doors flew open behind him. He felt the wind rush by as the blond from the bar pushed passed him.

“I can’t let you marry him, Alex,” the blond said. “You don’t love him. He doesn’t love you, Paul. Just ask him.”

Daryl stared at the man slack jawed wondering if he should be upset at the asshole for stealing his thunder. He watched Paul turn to Alex who nearly had steam coming out of his ears as he glowered at the blond. “You invited him?” Paul asked.

“No, of course not,” Alex replied.

“No, just to the bachelor party where he fucked me in the club.” The room let out a collective gasp at that little revelation.

Daryl hated the pained look that it put on Paul’s face. Humiliated at his own wedding by a stuck up preppy bitch. Well, Daryl couldn’t let that stand. He trampled up the aisle and pushed passed the blond. “Hey, dickhead, I was here first. If ya wanna object, get in line.”

Paul caught his eye, and for a moment, all his courage evaporated. Until Alex opened his big, fat mouth. “No one invited you either, Dixon.”

Daryl glared at him and leaped up onto the stage. “Actually, Paul did. Prolly ‘cause deep down he don’t really wanna marry your cheatin’ ass.” Before the best man had a chance to intervene, Daryl introduced the groom to his fist.

“That’s enough,” Paul shouted as he got between the two before Alex could retaliate.

“I love you,” Daryl said. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t ready to marry ya back then, but even if ya don’t want me now, if ya can’t give me a second chance, well, even then ya can’t marry this cheat. He ain’t good enough for ya.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Alex protested.

“Ohh-hoh yeah, ya did. We’ve been at it for _months_ ,” Blondie added, an ugly smirk on his face.

Daryl thought about decking him too, but his fist already hurt. And he’d already punched one person in front of a room full of witnesses. He didn’t want to press his luck.

“Daryl, go,” Paul said, his voice soft and sure and one Daryl couldn’t argue with.

He nodded as he bit his lip, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces. But he jumped off the stage and took one last longing look at Paul before he sulked up the aisle, ignoring the sneers and whispers of the people in the crowd. He heard commotion coming from the front of the sanctuary, but he refused to look back. Paul had made it clear. He didn’t want him anymore.

His eyes started to water, but he held back the tears, opting to chew on his thumbnail to quell the flood of emotion inside him. How had this happened? How could Paul just send him away like that? His husband, future husband, had cheated on him for months, and he was still going to marry him? What the hell kind of hold did Alex have over him? Because no dick was _that_ good. But money talked.

No. He couldn’t think about it anymore. Paul made his choice, and Daryl had to live with that. At least he knew where the closest bar was. He’d head back and drink until the ache in his chest went away, but he had a feeling without Paul, it never would.

He’d thrown his leg over his bike when he heard Alex yelling Paul’s name, and he turned, surprised to see Paul running toward him.

“Paul! Don’t be like this? We can work it out,” Alex hollered.

Paul flipped him off in reply as he grinned at Daryl. Without a second though, Daryl fired up his bike and already had her inching forward by the time he felt Paul’s arms curl around him. Then they took off, leaving Alex behind to deal with the fallout.

*

Daryl cut the engine when they pulled into the bar’s parking lot. Paul hopped off and started pacing on the sidewalk. Daryl chewed on his thumb, the taste of blood coming through now that he’d sobered some more. He didn’t know what to say exactly, but he needed Paul to know he had his back no matter what.

“ ‘M sorry.” For crashing the wedding, for being afraid of commitment the first time around, for taking so long to realize what he’d lost, for punching… no, he wasn’t sorry for that.

“You were right, you know,” Paul said, his feet slowing as he strolled toward Daryl. “He didn’t know I invited you because… I mean I had hoped….” Paul bit his lip and Daryl took a chance as he reached out to draw him near. “I didn’t wanna marry him. Not really.” Paul’s forehead came to rest against Daryl’s, and fuck if that didn’t feel like coming home.

“Ya knew I’d crash your wedding?” Daryl asked.

Paul huffed out a laugh Daryl felt all the way down to his toes. “No, maybe just hoped you would. Because, well, I guess I only ever saw myself marrying you.”

Daryl hid his blush in the crease of Paul’s neck, breathing in a scent he thought he’d never have again. “I was such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, smiling as he pulled back enough to press a kiss to Daryl’s lips. “But you figured it out in the end.”


End file.
